


The Element of Dear Watson

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Bloating, Fatlock, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Feedism, M/M, Multi, Overeating, Stuffing, Weight Gain, belly stuffing, some piggy play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7718701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson knows what he wants, or at least he thinks he does. He wants the Great Sherlock Holmes as his personal prize pig. But as Sherlock gains, John may be getting far more of his lover than he had bargained for. This bigger Sherlock is more of a wild boar than a tame little piggy. And he's ready to take charge of things to show John what it is he really wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FatlocknDomJohn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlocknDomJohn/gifts).



John Watson is in his element.

            “Go on, Piggy. Eat up. I want you properly fattened in time for market,” the ex-army captain purrs, dilated pupils roving over the growing bulge beneath his hog’s ever tightening button-up shirt. The buttons are beginning to strain now; John feels his arousal burning at the thought of them springing free, soft white fat spilling out between them to flub gently onto thick fat thighs and then to only grow further as it gurgles. John groans his encouragement, dipping his head to suck a love bite onto Sherlock’s long pale neck as he feeds him another sugary doughnut. The detective gasps, a deep baritone groan following only to be muffled by fatty pastry.

            John is going to have the great Sherlock Holmes as his own personal prize pig, oozing out of his suits, sharp features buried in fat, cold eyes gone warm and demure with thousands of calories and laziness. He digs his fingers into Sherlock’s middle, rubbing it eagerly until Sherlock lets out a long wet belch.

            “Yes, God yes!” John moans, rutting up against Sherlock’s thigh, “Want you. So full and fat- ungh!”

            “Mmph, hurp, yes John!” Sherlock groans in response, his own eyes dark, “More. Feed me. More.”

            John lets out a soft gasp, his entire body suddenly quivering in his rush to comply, stuffing more doughnuts into Sherlock’s mouth as quick as he can, peppering the man’s neck, chest, and belly with kisses. He gives a soft whimper as Sherlock arches his back, pushing against his buttons and sends one flying. He dutifully feeds Sherlock more, dipping his head down to kiss, suck, and worship that perfect belly. They are both panting, groaning, and spent in a matter of minutes. John feels Sherlock slip long clean fingers into his short cropped hair and lets out a happy sigh, his own sticky fingers still clinging to Sherlock’s overstuffed middle.   
           

“Good,” they both say in one breath.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sherlo-Piggy, that’s yours,” John corrects him mildly, blinking in confusion at the greasy bacon butty, dripping with extra butter, that is now presented before his lips. He wets them and leans in before he quite realizes it and hurriedly pulls back. His tongue screams for a taste of the fat and salt, the perfectly crisp bun.

            “Piggy wants to share with his… master,” Sherlock rumbles, practically fluttering his eyelashes at John as he takes the butty back and bites into it, letting grease trickle out of the corner of his mouth. He only lets it get as far as his softened chin before he catches it with a plump thumb and sucks it off, his eyes never leaving his doctor’s face as his mouth works. Sherlock has to know what seeing those plump cheeks hollow and then plump again does to him. Has to.

            John lets out a whine, blushing at the sound. He really has got to stop doing that. Breaks character.

            Sherlock only chuckles and proffers the butty again, his gaze level, compelling.

_Eat._

            John does. He can allow himself just this once. It’s been ages since lunch and he took a good run just last week. He crunches through the mass of bacon, butter, and fried tomato until he reaches Sherlock’s fingers. His eyes are closed as his tongue slowly and carefully seeks out every last bit of butter and bacon grease from Sherlock’s fattened fingers.

            “Good piggy…” Sherlock purrs, a hand slipping to John’s stomach and rubbing it delicately.

            John jerks away.

            “I’m John,” he says pointedly, matching Sherlock’s gaze with his own, “Your captain.”

            “Of course you are,” Sherlock replies, opening his eyes wide and blinking at John innocently. “I’m merely looking after my captain.”

            John purses his lips, but allows this transgression in light of Sherlock’s submission. He even lets Sherlock feed him a good sized portion of the double chocolate peanut butter pie. Sherlock would still meet his calorie goal. The detective was fattening up nicely. Another set of new suits would be in order by the end of the week gauging by Sherlock’s increasingly demanding appetite. Ahead of schedule.

            John muffles a belch and pushes the next forkful of pie away, his stomach gurgling and churning around the mass of sugar and fat in his belly. Christ, how much butter was it he had added to the recipe? How many calories? 600 a slice? No more like 1200? Even more with whipped cream?

            But then Sherlock is kissing him, rolling him onto his back and letting that heavy full gut crash into him, and John can’t be bothered to worry about that anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and onward is nsfw. Here be smut.

Another six months into their game, and John is very proud of his piggy’s progress. He tells him so as he is taking his measurements, kissing soft fat padded shoulder blades as he draws the measuring tape tight around the man’s soft flabby middle. He’s moved past potbelly now, into the territory of a proper belly, a _gut._ John groans, grinding up into an equally massive arse, two moon-like spheres that jiggle when he ambles along for Sherlock Holmes no longer strides as he used to. John hefts one in each hand and lets them fall, presses them together and then rolls them apart. He snaps the too small thong playfully, making Sherlock jump at the smack.

            “Naughty,” the taller man growls, his eyes alight with a spark of danger, a smirk curling his softened features. He should look cherubic with those round plump cheeks and a thick ring of chins around his jaw, but somehow he only looks more dangerous, his dark curls like the halo of some dark prince of gluttony; a heavy rhino about to charge. Unstoppable.

            John moans as he is slammed against the bathroom wall, his hands pinned by two fat massive palms, a mountain of a gut keeping his hips pinned helplessly, two massive tits jiggling in his face. John keens, desperate to catch one of those pink nipples in his mouth.

            He can feel Sherlock chuckling against him, causing his massive soft belly to quake against him. John realizes he has leaked through his pants. And pajama bottoms. He flushes but Sherlock only catches his mouth with his own and ruts into him, practically fucking John with his belly, slowly, rhythmically, brutally.

            John climaxes with a cry that gets muffled in the soft fat of Sherlock’s chest, He slumps against the wall, every limb trembling. He can’t feel his fingers.

            Sherlock kisses him, and lets him go, wandering over to pull on his trousers and shirt again. John watches him through a daze, not entirely trusting himself to let go of the wall just yet.

            “Hang on, we need to- I didn’t get all the num-“  
            “I’m hungry,” Sherlock interrupts, buttoning his trousers with some difficulty over his tucked in shirt, his belly spilling over the waistband as he relaxes again, the buttons pulled to the edges of their holes.

            “But-“

            “You’re taking me to that Indian buffet I like,” Sherlock continues, smoothing his suit jacket before flicking his steely gaze4 back up to John’s face. “Understood, Captain?”

            “I- Yes.” John nods, swallowing the ‘sir’ before it can escape him. He goes to collect new clothes for himself, mind still in a heady daze. He doesn’t notice his reflection as he pulls out a fresh pair of pants and jeans, doesn’t see that the briefs are hugging his arse rather tightly, nor that a handsome muffin top spills over his waistband after he struggles to do them up, nor that his middle and chest seem to jiggle as he tugs a jumper down over his head. He doesn’t even notice that his jumper now rounds out where it once skimmed over flat abs. What John does notice, is that he’s feeling rather peckish.


	4. Chapter 4

“John!”

            John turns around as a cheery voice hails him. He looks back  to Sherlock, who nods with mild annoyance, his brow furrowed, chubby cheeks slowly working as he chews through a large bearclaw. His eyes flit all over a rather gruesome triple homicide, his big brain clearly puzzling out the hows and whys of it.

            “Greg,” John answers, smiling and accepting a creamy cup of coffee from the man. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he had insisted on drinking it black all these years. “Thanks, mate! Did you get some of those new maple bacon doughnuts I asked for?”

            “All taken care of,” Greg says, the silver fox beaming as he pats a massive white box beside him. He flips it open and helps himself, crumbs tumbling down onto his shirt and tie, his jacket left open to accommodate the great swell of his gut.

“Well, My took care of it actually. Good to have someone looking after you isn’t it?” Greg adds happily, rubbing his bulging belly.

            “Yeah. Seems to be doing you some good,” John smiles, feeling brave enough to reach over and give that perfectly soft and proddable belly a poke. “Must be up three stone already.”

            “Closer to four actually,” Greg answers proudly through a mouthful of sugar and bacon. “What about you?”

            John jumps as Greg slides a warm palm over his middle. He flushes, stuttering around the doughnut in his own mouth.

            “Oh, no- No no! Er, I’m not-Sherlock’s the one who’s gaining. Not me! He’s the pig.”

            Greg gives him a look. John has trouble placing it. Is it… pity? No it looks too fond, like-  
            “Hey, it’s all fine. I mean look at me! You know, it’s not always easy to admit but it really is nice to have a man in charge. Someone to keep y-“

            “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John snaps, his heart racing, “I’m the-Sherlock’s not-“ Fortunately, John’s blabbering response is cut short by a single deep syllable.

“JOHN.”

The ex-army captain springs immediately to attention, looking over at the massive detective who is now crooking a finger in a distinct ‘come hither’ motion.  
            “Sorry, my- Sherlock’s calling me,” John says, bobbing his head to Greg and seizing another three doughnuts before rushing off to Sherlock’s side. He catches a glimpse of that same smile on Greg’s face again as he hurries off but he doesn’t waste time contemplating it this time.

            “Very good, John,” Sherlock murmurs, ruffling John’s hair before taking a doughnut for himself and stuffing the second past John’s own lips. “Finish more than a half dozen before I’m done here and I’ll let you fuck my belly in the alleyway before we go.”

            John’s eyes widen and he nods eagerly, stuffing down his doughnut at double time. He pauses only to ask, “And if I- urmph- get through a whole dozen?”

            Sherlock smirks, looking like he could devour the shorter man as easily as a dragon.

            “Then I’ll fuck _you_ in a back alley like the naughty little pig you are.”

            John’s belly aches. But he finishes a full baker’s dozen of the sugary, fatty, bacon-covered things.

            The sex is the best John has ever had. He can’t contain his moans nor his belches as Sherlock fucks him hard, fast, and deep. The detective’s massive belly crashes against his back like waves on a beach, breaking him apart just as much as the cock buried in him. Sherlock’s harsh hot breaths are at his neck, those large hands alternating between rubbing his swollen overfull middle and pumping John’s huge hard cock. John has never felt more complete in his life. He is filled. Stuffed. Surrounded. Utterly his.

            “Good,” Sherlock rumbles into his ear with every thrust of his hips and tug of John’s cock, “You earned this. You ate yourself so round for me. So fat.  My fat little piggy, John.”

            John is awash in pleasure, his cheeks flushed, heart pounding, breath gasping. He whimpers, nodding eagerly. He is far past full. Bloated, stuffed full of calories, purposefully letting himself go podgy and plump, piling on weight that everyone else seems to want to lose. What will they think of him when they see him huge, rolling, and jiggling. Captain Watson gone soft. Far past soft? Well and truly fat. A real porker. A lazy hog that only eats and sleeps and grows. Where there once was a whirlwind of fear, there is now barely a flutter. He wants this. He has always wanted this. And Sherlock, brilliant Sherlock, loves him enough to help him see it.

            “Y-yes-yes. Hurp! Braaahp! Want to- huh! Ah! So… _fat_!”

            John isn’t certain if he screams as he comes or if it is utterly silent. His vision goes as his eyes roll back, Sherlock digging his fingers into his plump and fattening middle, the man’s cock grazing his prostate deliciously as he feels the man’s huge gut shudder against, Sherlock’s own climax spilling hotly inside John. Pleasure radiates through the good doctor as he splatters against the wall and his own protruding belly. He collapses after, but Sherlock keeps a hold of him, squashing him into his gut.

            The man groans and dips his head down to nuzzle at John’s neck. John simply allows his head to loll, mind blissfully at peace, body utterly boneless.

            “That’s my good piggy,” Sherlock murmurs, and John can feel him smirking.

            John smiles through his panted breaths, and hums in agreement.


	5. Chapter 5

The doorbell rings and John looks up from his laptop.

            “Want me to get that?” he offers, already getting to his feet as Sherlock looks quite content to remain where he is on the sofa. The two of them no longer fit on this particular piece of furniture together. Sherlock is having a new one delivered next week.

            Sherlock waves him off even as he sits up as well, his massive belly only just contained by his shirt buttons which are straining yet again. He pads to the kitchen, his equally massive hips swaying, enormous arse rolling and looking ready to split his trousers in two.

            John waddles to the door, clad in nothing but a jumper that keeps creeping up over his deep wide navel and exposing a huge shelf of belly, complete with a nest ofcurly golden hair, and a pair of severely abused red briefs, his arse cheeks spilling over the top of the waistband. Fortunately, their guests are expected.

            “Greg! Good to see you. And Mycroft, come on in. Sherlock’s just wrapping things up in the kitchen,” John says, swallowing slightly as he takes them in. Greg is even bigger than the last time they saw each other, his shirt looking ready to pop off him if he breathes too deeply, two massive plump breasts with pert nipples visible through the thinly stretched fabric that only seems to grow tighter as it hugs a huge barrel of a belly. John’s eyes trail down to the indent of the man’s navel which is visible through the material. He longs to slip his tongue into it, to nibble along the lip of fat beneath it and then to bite those plush perfect lovehandles that aren’t even trying to hide where they bloom out from between too tight trousers and shirt.

            John tears his gaze away only to find Greg regarding himself with the same interest. Both men blush. Mycroft smirks at John over Greg’s shoulder. He pushes past the two of them bodily, pointedly squashing his massive sides into the other two fat men. He remains the fattest of them all.

            “Manners, Dr. Watson,” he chides lightly, “Hasn’t my brother taught you it’s rude to stare so?”

            “I’ve tried to,” Sherlock answers, reemerging from the kitchen with a truly massive cake and setting it down on the coffee table with a grunt amongst the other treats piled high there. He meets John’s gaze and adds, “Captain Watson is just too much of a hog to be taught much of anything. Besides eating of course. And napping…”  
            “Ah, lazy is he, your pet?” Mycroft comments mildly, surveying John imperiously in a way that makes John want to sink to his knees on the spot. He clicks his tongue and the fattened ex army captain blushes deeply, ducking his head. All he sees is tits and belly.

            “I’m afraid my dear Gregory is much the same,” Mycroft adds fondly, now striding towards the DI and cupping his chubby cheek in his fat fingers. “Such a plump spoiled thing you’ve become.”

            Greg blushes in kind but looks eager like an overlarge golden retriever eager for praise.

            “Well, best let them get some exercise in that case,” Sherlock says crisply. John looks up to find his lover tugging his jumper off over his head. He does his best to help, gulping and shifting a bit as Sherlock shoves his pants out of the way as well. He’s already hard. Sherlock smirks, cupping his erection in one hand and kissing him. John whimpers and presses up into him, desperate for more, but Sherlock withdraws. There is a clink and John feels soft rolled leather against his skin as he is collared.

            “Down, piggy,”

            John obeys, folding to his hands and knees and looking across to find Mycroft has undressed and collared Greg in much the same fashion. The grey haired DI is now investigating their table of treats. He reaches for a heavily frosted fairy cake but withdraws as Mycroft taps his fat rump with a riding crop.

            “Hogs don’t use their hands, dear,” he says lightly. Greg nods  and then eagerly tucks in, face first, his lips and cheeks covered in icing and crumbs. John stares, then jumps as he feels Sherlock slap his own arse.   
            “Play nice, Piggy,” he instructs, then stands back to watch like his brother. John crawls towards Greg, his fat heavy belly jiggling against his thighs, breasts jiggling between his plump arms.  Greg looks up from his treat and gives him a happy grunt before turning back to the fairycakes.

            John starts in on a sticky banoffee pie, his face covered in whipped cream. The two hogs grunt and eat contentedly, their masters stepping in to slide a particular sweet to them next or to prod their sides to check their progress, commenting on each other’s charges or spurring them on to eat more and more.

            John belches, feeling slow and full but not done eating, then he spies a dribble of caramel running down Greg’s chin to his chest and he seizes his chance. He bowls the man over and pins him to the floor, humming as he sucks it from Greg’s skin. Greg squeals at first but then those sounds become moans and he lays back and relaxes. He belches and John groans, daring to kiss the DI. Greg hesitates a moment, but when neither of their lover’s step in, he reciprocates hungrily, grabbing at as much of John as he can reach, sucking at his lower lip, gasping as John presses his tongue into his mouth.

            The two piggies roll about, grunting and moaning, kissing the spilled sweets from each other’s softened bodies, exploring each other with eager fingers and tender lips. The dishes rattle as their two soft bodies crash and squash up against each other, bellies kissing and breasts slapping. Finally Mycroft steps in, rapping the table with his knuckles.

            “Enough of that now,” he says firmly, even if his pupils are dark  as black holes and there’s a carnal growl in his tone. “Piggies must eat. Finish the cake. The both of you.”  
            John looks at Sherlock, wetting his lips as he notes the bulge in his master’s trousers now that he can see beneath that big soft belly.

            “Go on, Piggy. Eat up,” he orders, his voice low and dark as the rich chocolate of the cake.

            And so they do, Greg digging in happily, but John: John devours. Gluts. Gorges himself. He hardly seems to chew his mouthfuls before he’s swallowing them down. His belly gurgles and churns as it strains and stretches, rounding down towards the floor.  He utterly loses himself in the eating, wanting nothing in the world but to grow fatter, larger, fuller-

            Ah, Sherlock. Sherlock’s here now with a drink. John gulps the thick milkshake from the huge pitcher that Sherlock pours down his throat. John obediently sits back on his haunches, gulping it as fast as Sherlock gives it to him, his belly swelling towards his knees, growing almost absurdly round.   
            “Well done, piggy,” Sherlock purrs, patting John’s head. The piggy grunts happily, bumping up into his master’s thigh, eager for more praise. Sherlock gives him a few more pats, then holds out another pitcher. John doesn’t even hesitate as he begins to suck down the second. His belly strains and almost seems to moan, or perhaps those sounds are coming from John himself. He collapses back, still drinking, keeping himself propped up on quivering elbows as he drinks and drinks. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of calories are poured down his throat. And John drinks every last drop. When he finally lays down completely, Sherlock can rub the crest of his belly without bending at all. It is almost perfectly sphereical. Sherlock tells him this and John smiles through his happy overfull daze. He looks over and sees Greg struggling to finish his second pitcher for Mycroft, the man’s grey dusted middle going splotchy around the navel as he falls back, whimpering. Mycroft coos, rubbing his lover’s middle delicately, ensuring him that he is still proud of him. John locks eyes with Sherlock and opens his mouth.  
            “Oink,” he begs. And that look Sherlock gives him before taking the pitcher from his is worth all the belly aches in the world.

            “You’re going to be a planet, my John,” he purrs as he begins to pour the last third down John’s throat. His free hand rubs John’s beachball of a gut with fascination, hardly able to find a single centimeter of give left in his gluttonous pig. “The fattest hog in London, in the world… All mine.”

            John groans in agreement, gulping down more. More. More. And More.

            “Yours,” he belches, breathing shallowly before snatching the pitcher from Sherlock’s fingers and tipping it back greedily for every last drop. “All yours. Your huurp fat hog!”

Stuffed to maximum capacity, belching loudly enough to shake the flat, stained with sweets, surrounded by emptied plates, tins, and crumbs, John Watson is finally in his element.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, friend! :D 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoy rping and chatting with you! I am endlessly glad you exist.


End file.
